A Prisoner of Birth

by Jeffrey Archer

  ‘So were we,’ admitted Duncan as the wine waiter drained the bottle. Danny nodded when he held it up enquiringly.

  ‘Fine wine, that,’ said Duncan. Danny smiled. ‘Larry’s problem is that he hasn’t been offered much lately, and at least Earnest kept his name on the billboards for a few weeks. Soap stars, like footballers, soon get used to earning thousands of pounds a week, not to mention the lifestyle that goes with it. But once that tap is turned off, even if they’ve accumulated a few assets along the way, they can quickly run out of cash. It’s been a problem for so many actors, especially the ones who believe their own publicity and don’t put anything aside for a rainy day, and then find themselves facing a large tax bill.’

  Another question answered. ‘So what are you planning to do next?’ asked Danny, not wanting to show too much interest in Lawrence Davenport in case Duncan became suspicious.

  ‘I’m putting on a piece by a new playwright called Anton Kaszubowski. He won several awards at the Edinburgh Festival last year. It’s called Bling Bling, and I have a feeling it’s just what the West End is looking for. Several big names are already showing interest, and I’m expecting to make an announcement in the next few days. Once I know who’s taking the lead, I’ll drop you a line.’ He toyed with his glass. ‘What sort of figure would you be thinking of investing?’ he asked.

  ‘I’d begin with something small,’ said Danny, ‘say ten thousand. If that works out, I could well become a regular.’

  ‘I survive on my regulars,’ said Duncan and drained his glass. ‘I’ll be in touch as soon as I’ve signed up a lead actor. By the way, I always throw a small drinks party for the investors when I launch a new show, which inevitably attracts a few stars. You’ll be able to see Larry again. Or his sister, depending on your preference.’

  ‘Anything else, Sir Nicholas?’ asked the head waiter.

  Danny would have called for a third bottle, but Charlie Duncan had already answered all his questions. ‘Just the bill, thank you, Mario.’

  After Big Al had returned him to The Boltons, Danny went straight up to his study and took the Davenport file off the shelf. He spent the next hour making notes. Once he had written down everything of relevance that Duncan had told him, he replaced the file between Craig’s and Payne’s and returned to his desk.

  He began to read through his attempt at a prize essay, and after only a few paragraphs his suspicions that it wouldn’t be good enough to impress Professor Mori, let alone the panel of judges, were confirmed. The only good thing about the time he had spent on it was that it had occupied the endless hours of waiting before he could make his next move. He had to avoid the temptation to speed things up, which might well result in him making a fatal error.

  It was several weeks before Gary Hall managed to close the two property deals in Mile End Road, without either seller becoming aware what he was up to. Like a good fisherman, Danny cast his fly with a single purpose: not to catch the minnows like Hall that hang around the surface, but to tempt the bigger fish, like Gerald Payne, to leap out of the water.

  He also had to wait for Charlie Duncan to find a star for his new show before he could legitimately meet up with Davenport again. He also had to wait for— The phone rang. Danny picked it up. ‘That problem you mentioned,’ said a voice. ‘I believe we may have come up with a solution. We should meet.’ The line went dead. Danny was beginning to discover why Swiss bankers continue to hold on to the accounts of the rich who value discretion.

  He picked up his pen, returned to his essay and tried to think of a more arresting opening line. John Maynard Keynes would surely have known the popular song, ‘Ain’t We Got Fun’, with its damning line, ‘There’s nothing surer, the rich get rich and the poor get children’. He may well have speculated on its application to nations as well as individuals . . .

  57

  ‘JAPANESE KNOTWEED?’

  ‘Yes, we believe that Japanese knotweed is the answer,’ said Bresson. ‘Although I’m bound to say that we were both puzzled by the question.’

  Danny made no attempt to enlighten them, as he was just beginning to learn how to play the Swiss at their own game. ‘And why is it the answer?’ he asked.

  ‘If Japanese knotweed is discovered on a building site, it can hold up planning permission for at least a year. Once it’s been identified, experts have to be brought in to destroy the weed, and building cannot commence until the local health and safety committee have deemed the site to have passed all the necessary tests.’

  ‘So how do you get rid of Japanese knotweed?’ asked Danny.

  ‘A specialist company moves in and sets fire to the entire site. Then you have to wait another three months to make sure that every last rhizome has been removed before you can reapply for planning permission.’

  ‘That wouldn’t come cheap?’

  ‘No, it certainly doesn’t come cheap for the owner of the land. We came across a classic example in Liverpool,’ added Segat. ‘The city council discovered Japanese knotweed on a thirty-acre site that had already been granted planning permission for a hundred council houses. It took more than a year to remove it at a cost of just over three hundred thousand pounds. By the time the houses had been built, the developer was lucky to break even.’

  ‘Why is it so dangerous?’ asked Danny.

  ‘If you don’t destroy it,’ said Bresson, ‘it will eat its way into the foundations of any building, even reinforced concrete, and ten years later, without warning, the whole edifice comes tumbling down, leaving you with an insurance bill that would bankrupt most companies. In Osaka, Japanese knotweed destroyed an entire apartment block, which is how it acquired its name.’

  ‘So how do I get hold of some?’ asked Danny.

  ‘Well, you certainly won’t find a packet on the shelves of your local garden centre,’ said Bresson. ‘However, I suspect that any company which specializes in destroying it could point you in the right direction.’ Bresson paused for a moment. ‘It would of course be illegal to plant it on someone else’s land,’ he said, looking directly at Danny.

  ‘But not on your own land,’ Danny replied, which silenced both bankers. ‘Have you come up with a solution for the other half of my problem?’

  It was Segat who answered him. ‘Once again, your request was to say the least unusual, and it certainly falls into the high-risk category. However, my team feel they may have identified a piece of land in East London that fulfils all your criterion.’ Danny recalled Nick correcting him on the proper use of the word criteria, but decided not to enlighten Segat. ‘London, as you will be well aware,’ continued Segat, ‘is bidding to host the 2012 Olympics, with most of the major events provisionally planned to take place at Stratford in East London. Although the success or failure of the bid has not yet been decided, this has already created a large speculative market for sites in the area. Among the sites the Olympic Committee are currently considering is the venue for a velodrome which would accommodate all the indoor cycling events. My contacts inform me that six potential sites have been identified, of which only two are likely to be on the shortlist. You are in the happy position of being able to purchase both sites, and although you would initially have to pay a heavy premium, there is still potential for a handsome profit.’

  ‘How heavy a premium?’ asked Danny.

  ‘We have valued the two sites,’ said Bresson, ‘at around a million pounds each, but both of the current owners are asking for a million and a half. But if they were both to make the shortlist, they could end up being worth as much as six million. And if one of them turned out to be the winner, that figure could be doubled.’

  ‘But if it doesn’t,’ said Danny, ‘I stand to lose three million.’ He paused. ‘I’ll have to consider your report very carefully before I’m willing to risk that amount.’

  ‘You’ve only got a month to make up your mind,’ said Bresson, ‘because that’s when the shortlist will be announced. If both of the sites are on it, you certainly wouldn’t be able to
pick them up at that price.’

  ‘You’ll find all the material you need to help make your decision in here,’ added Segat, handing Danny two files.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Danny. ‘I’ll let you know what I’ve decided by the end of the week.’ Segat nodded. ‘Now, I’d like an update on how your negotiations with Tower Hamlets over the Wilson garage site on Mile End Road are progressing.’

  ‘Our London lawyer had a meeting with the council’s chief planning officer last week,’ said Segat, ‘to try to discover what his committee would regard as acceptable were you to apply for outline planning permission. The council has always envisaged a block of affordable flats on that piece of land, but they accept that the developer has to make a profit. They’ve come up with a proposal that if seventy flats were to be built on the site, one third of them would have to be classified as affordable dwellings.’

  ‘That’s not mathematically possible,’ said Danny.

  Segat smiled for the first time. ‘We didn’t consider it wise to point out that there would have to be either sixty-nine or seventy-two flats, allowing us some room for negotiation. However, if we were to agree in principle to their suggestion, they would sell us the plot for four hundred thousand pounds, and grant outline planning permission at the same time. On that basis, we would recommend that you accept their offer price, but try to get the council to allow you to build ninety flats. The chief planning officer felt that this would cause heated debate in the council chamber, but if we were to raise our offer to, say, five hundred thousand, he could see his way to recommending our proposal.’

  ‘If this were to be approved by the council,’ said Bresson, ‘you’d end up owning the whole site for just over a million pounds.’

  ‘If we managed to achieve that, what do you suggest should be my next move?’

  ‘You have two choices,’ said Bresson. ‘You can either sell on to a developer, or you can build and manage the project yourself.’

  ‘I have no interest in spending the next three years on a building site,’ said Danny. ‘In that case once we’ve agreed terms and provisional planning permission has been granted, just sell the site on to the highest bidder.’

  ‘I agree that might be the wisest solution,’ said Segat. ‘And I’m confident that you will still double your investment in the short term.’

  ‘You’ve done well,’ said Danny.

  ‘We could not have moved so swiftly,’ said Segat, ‘had it not been for your knowledge of the site and its past history.’

  Danny didn’t react to what was clearly a fishing expedition. ‘Finally, perhaps you could bring me up to date on my current financial position.’

  ‘Certainly,’ said Bresson, extracting another file from his briefcase. ‘We have merged your two accounts as requested and formed three trading companies, none of them in your name. Your personal account currently stands at $55,373,871, slightly down on where it was three months ago. However, you have made several investments during that time, which should eventually show a handsome return. We have also purchased on your behalf some of the shares you identified when we last met, making a further investment of just over two million pounds – you’ll find the details on page nine of your green file. Again, following your instructions, we have placed any surplus cash with triple-A institutions on the overnight currency markets, which is presently showing a year-on-year return of approximately eleven per cent.’

  Danny decided not to comment on the difference between the 2.75 per cent interest the bank had originally been paying and the 11 per cent he was now accruing. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Perhaps we could meet again in a month’s time.’ Segat and Bresson nodded and began to gather up their files. Danny rose from his place and, aware that neither banker had any interest in small talk, accompanied them to the front door.

  ‘I’ll be back in touch,’ he said, ‘the moment I’ve come to a decision on those two Olympic sites.’

  After they had been driven away, Danny went upstairs to his study, removed Gerald Payne’s file from the shelf, placed it on his desk and spent the rest of the morning transferring all the details that would assist in his plan to destroy him. If he were to purchase the two sites, he would then need to meet Payne face to face. Had he ever heard of Japanese knotweed?

  Are parents always more ambitious for their children than they are for themselves, Beth wondered as she entered the headmistress’s study.

  Miss Sutherland stepped forward from behind her desk and shook hands with Beth. The headmistress didn’t smile as she ushered her into a chair and then reread the application form. Beth tried not to show just how nervous she was.

  ‘Am I to understand, Miss Wilson,’ said the headmistress, emphasizing the word miss, ‘you are hoping that your daughter will be able to join our pre-school group at St Veronica’s next term?’

  ‘Yes, I am,’ replied Beth. ‘I think Christy would greatly benefit from the stimulus your school has to offer.’

  ‘There is no doubt that your daughter is advanced for her years,’ said Miss Sutherland, glancing at her entrance papers. ‘However, as I’m sure you will appreciate, before she can be offered a place at St Veronica’s, there are other concerns I will have to take into consideration.’

  ‘Naturally,’ said Beth, fearing the worst.

  ‘For instance, I can find no mention of the child’s father on the application form.’

  ‘No,’ said Beth. ‘He died last year.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Miss Sutherland, not sounding at all sorry. ‘May I enquire, what was the cause of death?’

  Beth hesitated, as she always found it difficult to utter the words. ‘He committed suicide.’

  ‘I see,’ said the headmistress. ‘Were you married to him at the time?’

  ‘No,’ admitted Beth. ‘We were engaged.’

  ‘I’m sorry to have to ask this question, Miss Wilson, but what were the circumstances of your fiancé’s death?’

  ‘He was in prison at the time,’ said Beth softly.

  ‘I see,’ said Miss Sutherland. ‘May I ask what offence he was convicted of?’

  ‘Murder,’ said Beth, now certain that Miss Sutherland already knew the answer to every question she was asking.

  ‘In the eyes of the Catholic Church both suicide and murder are, as I’m sure you are aware, Miss Wilson, mortal sins.’ Beth said nothing. ‘I also feel it is my duty to point out,’ the headmistress continued, ‘that there are no illegitimate children currently registered at St Veronica’s. However, I will give your daughter’s application my most serious consideration, and will let you know my decision in the next few days.’

  At that moment, Beth felt that Slobodan Milosevic had a better chance of winning the Nobel Peace Prize than Christy did of entering St Veronica’s.

  The headmistress rose from behind her desk, walked across the room and opened the study door.

  ‘Goodbye, Miss Wilson.’

  Once the door had been closed behind her, Beth burst into tears. Why should the sins of the father . . .

  58

  DANNY WONDERED how he would react to meeting Gerald Payne. He couldn’t afford to show any emotion, and certainly if he were to lose his temper all the hours that he’d spent planning Payne’s downfall would have been wasted.

  Big Al drew up outside Baker, Tremlett and Smythe a few minutes early, but when Danny pushed through the swing doors and walked into the foyer, he found Gary Hall standing by the reception desk waiting to greet him.

  ‘He’s a quite exceptional man,’ Hall enthused as they walked across to a bank of lifts. ‘The youngest partner in the history of the company,’ he added as he pressed a button that would whisk them up to the top floor. ‘And quite recently he’s landed a safe parliamentary seat, so I don’t suppose he’ll be with us for much longer.’

  Danny smiled. His plan had only involved Payne being sacked. Having to give up a parliamentary seat as well would be an added bonus.

  When they stepped out of the l
ift, Hall led his most important client along the partners’ corridor until they reached a door with the name Gerald Payne printed in gold. Hall knocked softly, opened it and stood aside to allow Danny to enter. Payne leapt up from behind his desk and tried to do up his jacket as he walked towards them, but it was clear that it had been some time since the middle button had reached the buttonhole. He thrust out his hand and gave Danny an exaggerated smile. Try as he might, Danny couldn’t return it.

  ‘Have we met before?’ asked Payne, looking at Danny more closely.

  ‘Yes,’ said Danny. ‘At Lawrence Davenport’s closing-night party.’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course,’ said Payne, before inviting Danny to take a seat on the opposite side of the desk. Gary Hall remained standing.

  ‘Let me begin, Sir Nicholas . . .’

  ‘Nick,’ said Danny.

  ‘Gerald,’ said Payne. Danny nodded.

  ‘As I was saying, let me begin by expressing my admiration for your little coup with Tower Hamlets council over the site in Bow – a deal which, in my opinion, will see you double your outlay in under a year.’

  ‘Mr Hall did most of the spadework,’ said Danny. ‘I’m afraid I’ve been distracted by something far more demanding.’

  Payne leant forward. ‘And will you be involving our firm in your latest venture?’ he enquired.

  ‘Certainly in the final stages,’ said Danny, ‘although I’ve already completed most of the research. But I’ll still need someone to represent me when it comes to putting in an offer for the site.’

  ‘We’ll be happy to assist in any way we can,’ said Payne, the smile returning to his face. ‘Do you feel able to take us into your confidence at this stage?’ he added.

  Danny was pleased to find that Payne was clearly only interested in what might be in it for him. This time he returned the smile. ‘Everyone knows that if London is awarded the 2012 Olympics, there will be a lot of money to be made during the run-up,’ said Danny. ‘With a budget of ten billion available, there should be enough washing around for all of us.’